


Wish I Didn't Know, Maybe That Would Have Helped

by piq_snine



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Cuddling, M/M, but cuddling!, character death (if you squint), dying hope, kinda sad, or even know the story line, or read the book
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 09:16:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1299646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piq_snine/pseuds/piq_snine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo lay awake, in the future, thinking about the past, wondering about his short future. If he didn't know, would it hurt less? Or would it have only hurt more to not have even tried?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wish I Didn't Know, Maybe That Would Have Helped

The worst part was knowing, knowing how much he loved me. Knowing that, if I had asked, he would comply. Just knowing had been my undoing. But maybe it had been coming for some time now. I couldn’t pretend to not return his feelings, but I made no effort to engage either. It was a tiring thing, pretending and knowing. 

I can’t say that his love was pure, for me, for anyone, but his love was there, all of it. Or, most of it, or maybe not as much as I hoped there would be. But you could see it in his eyes. The way he would look at me, thick, dark eyebrows slanted downwards, a frown permanently stuck on his beautifully chiseled face. Oh! What stone he had been made of. 

I had believed, if only for a moment, that he wouldn’t ever repay the love I had for him. But then, one night, after orcs and goblins and elves and eagles and, yes, after a mumbling wizard, he came to lay beside me. I thought that he had mistaken me for one of his kin, but I was entirely too exhausted to deny the closeness that I craved. He tossed and turned; most likely because of his injuries he couldn’t find a comfortable sleeping position. I could feel him, against my back, the brushing of fabrics, his coat and livery against my corduroy jacket – which was entirely too thin in this cooling autumn night. It was uncomfortable enough for me that I wondered how he was fairing.

Then, there was a tentative touch at my elbow. I don’t recall if he had been only trying to get my attention, or to check if I had been asleep, I just know I didn’t do anything except lie there. His touch, a furnace against the cold, traveled from elbow to shoulder, lightly rubbing, touching, grazing, as if to convince himself that I was there. That I was alive and that the jar to my shoulder didn’t keep me from breathing beside him. Then his touch followed my arm back to elbow, then towards my wrist. He had to know I was awake by then, if not through the whole thing then at least know that he had woken me, which the truth was obviously the first. 

His hand wrapped around my wrist, squeezing gently as if to gain permission, I lay motionless still, hoping that my silence and stillness would be answer enough though I knew not which I would have been more satisfied with in the end. Knowing that he wanted to touch me, and didn’t, out of respect and honor and whatever other drivel I could imagine. Or knowing that he wanted to scoop me into his arms, whether like child or lover I didn’t care, just that I wanted him to do both. I was scared, just as I imagine he was. But when he chose the latter, as lover or consoling parent, he cradled me against his solid chest, I could feel the wetness of his wounds soak into my jacket and I didn’t care. I didn’t care because I cared too much for this man, this dwarf, this King under the Mountain. 

Our fingers interlaced, with gentleness and patience, his fatter fingers around my slender one; my weight had gone due to the road and less eating hours. His palms were clammy, sickness, nervousness, natural body reaction? Perhaps he had what my mother called swamp hands. But I didn’t care, because I cared. My heart smiled even though I couldn’t. I imagine I had been in shock then. His legs lined up with mine at a bend, his hips cradled mine, his chest and stomach shielding my back, his arms blanketing me. He was larger than me, this I had always known, and I realized just how much bigger he was when we lay together like that. 

I don’t remember when he had finally fallen asleep. His quieter snores against my ear kept me awake, I could never get used to all that noise at night. But I reveled in his caresses before sleep claimed him, the numbness in my fingers, blood was being cut off and cold enveloped them more solidly than his grip. In all of it uncomfortable, for dwarf men are just the same as hobbit men in the morning, I found peace in my heart, if uncertainty lay next to it as we did. 

I didn’t know where this would go. If, in fact, at all, go anywhere. But we lay like that all night, neither of us stirring, even when we were both awake. No words spoken in the night, though they should have been spoken first. We were never that intimate again, though he had been more kind to me than before, until he wasn’t kind at all, and not only to me. 

The worst part was knowing, knowing how much he loved me. Knowing that, if I had asked, he would comply. Just knowing had been my undoing. But maybe it had been coming for some time now. I couldn’t pretend to not return his feelings, but I made no effort to engage either. It was a tiring thing, pretending and knowing. That when I betrayed my king and betrayed our love – whatever it was, it hurt twice as worse than it could ever have.


End file.
